


live without a heart.

by MostlyFandomTrash



Series: the mortem family case files [5]
Category: Greek and Roman Mythology, Original Work
Genre: Character Death, Grief/Mourning, I'm Sorry, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Other, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Trigger Warnings, Why Did I Write This?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 12:17:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16702414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MostlyFandomTrash/pseuds/MostlyFandomTrash
Summary: he was seventeen when he was found in his room, dead by his own hand.or, moros and the end of a rope./(tw for suicide and mentions of child abuse)





	live without a heart.

**live without a heart.**

 

/

 

There was always noise coming from the Mortem house, no matter the time of day. When he was younger, when it was only him and Nemesis and Ker instead of the heard of siblings he knew now, the noise was laughter, it was shouts of joy, it was running from a father with nerf guns and to a mother with long dresses they could hide behind.

 

As he got older, as his sibling count increased, the noises got more diverse. Still, there was laughter and joy, but it was interlaced with the cries of his small brothers who hadn't had their naps yet, with the almost intangible music coming from the kitchen (his mother still liked to cook for them back then) where Nyx was laughing and Erebus was grinning, with the low sounds of his now three little sisters arguing about who got to play with the dolls first.

 

Before the horrors that bled into his early teen years, before vastness of the nothing that replaced it, there was the good, the bright; there was the noise. That is what he remembers.

 

/

 

“Moros! Moros, wake up!” Eris’ voice broke through the noise in his head (it was different from the noise he remembers; louder, harsher, it wasn't as nice), and the ten year old lifted his head from his pillow to stare at her with obvious annoyance.

 

“It's. . .” His eyes flick upwards to the digital clock on his dresser, “It's two in the morning, E. What do you want?”

 

The younger girl's eyes are slightly wide, and he regrets his harsh almost instantly when she starts speaking. “I had a bad dream. . . you, you left and when I tried to tell Momma, she didn't know who you were! And then when I asked Charon and Ker about it, they asked me who I was talking about! It was awful!”

 

“Oh, babe.” He leaned up on his arm and motioned for her to climb in with the other. Wrapping the blanket around his little sister's smaller former and leaned down so they were eye level on the bed. “That's not going to happen.”

 

“You won't leave me?” Eris asked quietly, gently snuggling into her older brother's warmth as she spoke. He nodded once. “Do you promise?”

 

“I promise.”

 

/

 

He was twelve years old when those noises stopped all together, when his grandfather got sick and his father took up drinking.

 

He was twelve years old and the noises changed from joy and laughter to sorrow and screaming, from kitchen music to broken bottles shattering against the living room wall when Nemesis comes home late from her bike riding adventure and he has to forcibly stop himself from throwing his body inbetween his father and his little sister.

 

Moros was twelve when his sister got glass stuck in her arm for the first time and he did nothing to stop it and he hated himself for it.

 

/

 

The first time he kissed a girl, he was almost fifteen (a week to the day, in fact) and Hestia tasted like bubblegum and the type of warmth he hadn't felt in a long time (it was the type of warmth he shouldn't be longing for when he looks at his own family, at his own mother and father). Hestia smiles at him when she pulls away and her golden eyes shine with something like laughter and he thinks that maybe his do too.

 

/

 

The first time he kissed a boy, he was exactly sixteen years, two days, and forty-five minutes old and the boy shoved him away after a moment or two (he kissed him back, though, which to Moros almost asked why). It was midnight and they were on the roof of his house and Poseidon tasted like cheap cigarettes and the wine they'd dug out of Rhea's cabinet.

 

“What the hell, mate?” The golden haired boy hissed and the darker haired one felt his insides start to cower from his best (former?) friend's raised voice. “Why'd you do that?”

 

“Because. . . because you looked pretty with a moonlit halo.” He offered weakly, and flinched when Poseidon laughed like Zeus did whenever he saw him.

 

Moros decided devil horns were more appropriate.

 

/

 

He goes home that night (morning, actually) with a busted lip and a sprained hand and for once he's thankful that his father is far too drunk to even think about waking up to catch him coming through the back door. Eris is already asleep in his bed, and when he climbs in next to her, he swears his sisters mumbles his name.

 

Moros brushes the hair out of her face and tries not to cry.

 

/

 

When Moros Mortem was seventeen, he decided that he's tired; of the noise, of the people, of everything. He decided that he'd rather die than spend another day under his father's roof.

 

He has unread texts from Hestia in his phone (the screen is shattered, of curse, like every other goddamn thing in this house) and he throws it at his bedroom wall at four in the morning to make them (to make her) go away while he sits on his bed, contemplating how best to tie a rope.

 

/

 

_ ros, r u _

_ coming 2 the _

_ mall w me _

_ today? _

 

_ ros? _

 

_ moros? _

 

_ come on, pick _

_ up ur phone! _

 

_ ik ur getting _

_ these! _

 

_ answer me _

_ already _

  
  


The shattered phone keeps buzzing and Moros almost screams and then he picks it up.

  
  


_ i think i'm going _

_ to have to turn you _

_ down for today, tia. _

 

_ sorry _

 

_ i love you _

 

_ i love u 2 _

_ moros :) _

 

_ maybe tmrw then? _

  
  


He shut it off without responding and set it gently on the self above his bed. Moros glanced up at the beams on his ceiling (his dad hadn't ever really finished remodeling the house before his grandpa got sick), and he decided the middle most one looked good enough.

 

/

 

Moros Mortem was seventeen when his oldest younger sister came home from school and found him hanging from the rafters in his bedroom and screamed.

 

/

 

Moros Mortem was seventeen when his best friend (when his first kiss) was the first person to cry over his body, when his little sisters had to try and explain something they should've never had to see in the first place to his little brothers. He was seventeen when he was found in his room, dead by his own hand (not by his own fault).

 

/

 

_ To Nemesis, Ker, Eris, Charon, Thanatos, Hypnos, and Hemera; _

 

_ I'm sorry. I'm sorry for not stopping him when I had so many chances to do so. I'm sorry for letting you go through that. I’m sorry, and I love you, but I'm sorry. _

 

_ I'm sorry I broke my promise, Eris. Please, forgive me, please. _

 

_ I'm sorry I wasn't the older brother you needed, and I'm sorry that I couldn't do any better. _

 

_ I'm sorry. _

 

_ Love, Moros _

 

/

 

**_fin._ **


End file.
